


Hetalia Blurbs

by AuthorReinvented



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Dark, Funny, Humour, Light-Hearted, Serious, Short Stories, Unfinished, a series of short, unrelated story ideas I probably won't finish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 12,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorReinvented/pseuds/AuthorReinvented
Summary: Little hetalia ideas and scenes im never actually going to do anything with. Please someone use this to inspire you.If you're ever inspired to write a fic based off this, or finish one I've started, please post the link in the comments, I'd love to read it.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7





	1. Hetalia High School Host Club

"That's right!" France anounce dramatically, pulling England to his hip. "England and I are the main characters!" England looked dead inside. 

America exchanged a look with Canada. 

"Wait a minute," He objected, "What does that makes us?" 

France smirked at him. 

"Why, of course, you are all the homosexual supporting cast!" 

In an instant, there was general outrage. 

Russia beamed dangerously over their heads, making no move to help Canada stop China from assulting France with his wok. 

"Cut, cut, CUT!" Hungary demanded through the megaphone.


	2. Sun and Moon

"And God turned to the Sun and said

'You will give life to the whole earth. You will keep people warm, feed the plants, and guide them by day.'

And the Sun smiled and thanked God. Then God turned to the Moon and said

'You will reflect the Sun's light and guide people's path in the night. You will control the waves, and the tides. You will have the power to command men to turn into wolves, and will balance out your brother.'

The Moon grinned, and responded. 'Hell yes!' "

England stopped, closing the book. "That's enough for tonight. Now go to bed boys." He ushered off the two little boys and tucked them into bed sweetly, despite their protest that they "weren't tired". It only took moments for them to fall asleep. England brushed his hand across the face of one of the boys. "Remember that story." he whispered to the sleeping children. "Because it's about you."

England Recieves a prophecy from Norway about the sun and moon spirits descending to earth.

Their whole life Alfred is raise as the sun spirit and Mathew as the moon. 

But when someone discovered this truth and tried to take control of Alfred's powers. They are shocked to find he cannot practice magic at all, failing to extract any more than a small flame even under the blazing sun in the desert. It isn't until Alfred is injured trying to awaken his powers and heals himself in the ocean under the full moon, that they realize the truth. Alfred isn't the sun spirit. He never was. Alfred is the moon spirit.

Turn their gaze towards controlling the other, unaware that Mathew felt the pain of his brother, caused by them, and is coming for them fast, and he is angry.

They take Alfred, the moon twin, down to the artic where it is night for 6 months, to lure mathew down. Then they attack him whole he's at his weakest. Alfred will not stand back and be protected,, and in a place that he is most powerful, he halls up giant waves, and forces the enemies into wolves, with no choice but to obey him.

Finally the twins escape and are never seen again... 

At least, not for many centuries.

Reborn as Italy and Romano?

Canada: Sun spirit

America :Moon spirit

Italy:second powerful- plants

Romano: weakest - air

Seborga: most powerful - earth

They assumed Italy was the earth spirit, the greatest, due to his plant magic. They were wrong.


	3. England's food

"Pancakes are ready!" England called out cheerfully, placing a loaded plate in front of Canada and America. Canada eyed his dish, unconvinced. "England, I have made pancakes many times before, and this is the first time they have waved at me." He looked at the gurgling, shifting pile of.. something... On his plate. "Mine just blinked." America noted, fearfully.

"England, I love you, but you and I both know the only thing you are decent at cooking is fish and chips."

England hung his head in shame.


	4. Till Heaven or Hell

"Welcome, pure soul." The man dressed in grey said. The space around them swirled with static. He held out his hand to the whute space on his left. "You, Mathew Williams, have been deemed worthy to enter to enteral happiness." Mathews eyes alite, and he turned to his brother, with tears in his eyes. "We did it Al. Let's go together." He gripped his brothers hand tightly, but the man in grey stopped him.

"Alfred F Jones, you have not been deemed worthy to ascend." Mathew froze.

Won't accend without Alfred

"Let him take my place" 

Can't be done

Refused to go without him

Given option of reincarnation to see if they can both suceen together. 

"OK. Well do it. As many times as we need to so we can go together." 

Finally, Al gives up. 

"I won't ever make It." 

He admits to all the things he did every life that stoped him from being able to ascend. 

I'm the grey space he tells Mathew he won't try do reincarnation again, and is going to accept his fate. Alfred pulled away from his brother saying he needs to ascend and explains

Everything he did that disqualified him was for Mathews sake so he could accend. 

Mathew refuses and tries to convince Al to stay, but Al leaves anyways. Mathew tries to convince the Grey man to let him go with Al, but the man says he cannot because Mathew is too pure for their. So Mathew reincarnated all by himself, with only one thought in mind

To get to hell. 

But... How can a pure and nice country do something horrible enough to get into hell?

Finally, mathew does something so evil he cant be forgiven, then kills himself. The grey man sadly waits for him and advised him he no longer Qualified for heaven. He offers hell or reincarnation one last time

Mathew answers sofrly

"Without my brother, 

There is nothing worth living for." 

And follows his brother into hell. 

The man in grey can do nothing to stop him, but as he sees Mathews retreating back, a single tear falls. 

End


	5. Why are you?

_"Why are you doing this?"_

_France couldnt hear the words from where he stood on the other end of the battle field behind America, but he could read England's face well enough to guess. France made eye contact with England before sliding his eyes behind England , and England stiffened as he realized who France was looking at. Then, ever so subtly, Framce took a step nearer to America and mouthed his reply against the battle field._

_Arthur couldn't read lips, but he might as well have. He understood France's response perfectly, in a way that chilled his blood._

_"You took something precious from me. Now ill do the same to you."_


	6. Dresses

Canada insists on wearing dresses and nightgown for way longer than America, who is mortified by this.

When America reached the size of a human 8-year-old, he began to worry about his brother. He had been wearing pants and shirts for quite a while now, but Canada still insisted on wearing his white nightgown and frocks. It wasn't that he refused to wear actual clothing or anything, and many times he had worn a suit provided by England to attend social events. It was only when they had no plans to go out that Canada would wear a frock instead of a shirt and pants. At first, America hadn't minded much, and had let Canada be. But, now that they were older, and America was growing rapidly, he was beginning to get concerned.

Finally, he cornered Canada. "Bro, you need to stop wearing dresses. You're not a toddler anymore and you're not a girl."

Canada had stared at him in mute surprise.

Canada bent his head to his lap, burrying his fce in his skirt. "But France


	7. Virus

There was a sickness sweeping the world, contagious and deadly. Every country was worried about it. It had started with China, though he tried to deny it. It didn't take a genius to see that China was attempting to hide his involvement, or that he was still sick. America had learned that confronting China didn't change anything. China was a closed off wall, and recently, no-one had seen or heard from him. Not that anyone had time to worry about China.

All countries alike were all sick, and America was sick in more ways than one. It was rare that he went out now at all, usually sick and feverish in his bed as riots and lootings broke out across his lands. When he did fall asleep, his fever induced dreams took him back to a different time, when his people fought against themselves. A time when America had been sure he was going to split in half from all the pain, to the point that he wished he would. He knew that England and Canada were also fearing another civil war, if only by the increased phone calls from both.

America could tell from England's tight tone that he was worried about the current pandemic, the strain in his voice the only real indication of how badly England was hit. France had neither been seen nor heard from in a while, and America suspected that this fact also contributed to England's strained tone. Canada too, was concerned, but as always, he worried in a very passive way. "It's a bit scary, Eh?" Canada had commented, his words not matching his relaxed tone through the phone. 

"You really don't sound like that's the case." 

America had informed him wryly, voice horse from coughing. 

"Well, I arranged it so Tim Hortons is still available for drive through and delivery," Canada had commented happily, "So it's not all that bad."

America somehow hadn't been surprised at how passive Canada was. 

But that was before they cancelled the NHL.


	8. General Winter

Russia's new president is running Russia to the ground, and Russia can't do anything to stop it. Soon he finds himself alone, poor, and in discord. But a country can never hurt their boss, no matter what. 

Finally, as Russia calls out fo help to anyone in his hour of need, and old friend steps in to save him. 

General winter takes the life of the president on Russia behalf, and Russias people elect a new president, who put the country back on track. Russia regains his strength, his friends, and other countries chip in the provide relief where necessary.

Russia didn't like his new boss. Yes, he had his pros and cons, like all of Russia's bosses, but this one, like many before him, had more cons than pros.


	9. Scones

Hey England! Got any more of those stones? 

You mean my scones?

Yeah whatever, can I have some?

Sure!

*Builds a wall with them*


	10. Duo Persona

Everyone knew that Feliciano Vargas was bipolar. How else did one explain a man who was cheerful and polite one day, then was screaming curse words and giving you the finger the next? He was a man shrouded in mystery, not only because of his mood swings, but because, no matter what mood he was in, Feliciano was hard to talk to.

If you spoke to him while he was in a good mood, he would cling and hug and gush about anything without taking a breath, but never anything important. He never spoke about his family, or his hobbies, but only random things, such as butterflies and kittens, or his favorite food, pasta. 

If you spoke to him while he was in a bad mood, he became closed off, and wary, usually responding with curses and a sharp tongue and occasionally colourful guestures. The difference was as great as night and day, but there were somethings that never changed with Feliciano. Whether in a good mood or bad, he always found time to flirt with the women, much to the infuriation of the neighbourhood husbands. Besides his playboy habit, he was also easily tempted with various pastas, always willing to try a new, or homemade dish, and even in a bad mood seemed to become significantly calmer once well fed.

If he was calmed enough to hold still or stop cursing, Feliciano might be convinced to do a painting for you, which was a well sought after treat that he didn't make a habit of. So it was that the mystery that was Feliciano Vargas was labeled as the eccentric, bipolar artist, and no one ever though to look any further.

That is, until Feliciano's new neighbours moved in. The newest neighbours were a pair of brothers, both eccentric in their own ways. They were German, the younger one stiff and uncomfortable, excluding an aura of an executive, and usually dress to fit the part, even his casual clothes ironed and starched. The older brother was friendly and outgoing and though he wore the same starched and ironed clothing as his brother, the way he wore his clothes was more casual. In personality, he was the opposite of his sibling, but what set him apart was the shock of red eyes and white hair, a rare albino.

Perhaps it was only these two eccentric brothers, one as stiff as a machine, the other running on boundless energy, that could live next to the bipolar man next door. No one though that the newcomers would last long, especially when they happened to have the misfortune of meeting their new neighbour for the first time while he was in a bad mood. The other neighbours weren't that surprised to hear the man's shrill shreik to get of his lawn, occompanied by some of his choice curses, followed by the slam of the door behind him as he stalked inside. 

Nor were they surprised when moments later the door flung open again, and Feliciano burst into tears at the sight of his neighbours, promising he was harmless, and that he was sorry if he had offended them and begikng them not to hurt him. If the younger German was surprised, he barely showed it, instead accessing Feliciano as though he was a strange extraterrestrial lifeform, which the other neighbours thought to be fair, considering Feliciano Vargas was certainly strange enough to be.

The older brother was more obviously shocked, but just as quickly got over it, suggesting that Feliciano might become his brother's friend. The smaller man had only hesitated until the albino noted that a strong friend could protect him at anytime, then accepted the offer like it was a lifeline. The friendship was decided before the younger brother could even give an opinion of his own.

None of the neighbours expected the friendship to last long, so it was to their great surprise how the stiff and awkward Ludwig managed to grow close with the flighty and clingy Feliciano, or how he remained impassive to his sudden mood swings. It was a greater mystery still how Gilbert, the older brother, seemed to find humor in Feliciano's bad moods, and seen teasing Feliciano so badly he burst into tears and ran into the house, only emerge moments later holding a heavy frying pan and threatening bodily harm.

It wasn't until many months had passed that neighbours finally began to understand there was something deeper going on. It wasnt that they were spying - Gosh no, they could never do that - but sometimes one might overhear a snippet of conversation while pruning the garden, or see a private scene whilst throwing out the trash. A single word, said over and over again, no matter what mood Feliciano was in: "Fratello." 

So it was that the rumours circled through the neighbourhood about another Vargas, a brother.

No one knew exactly what had happened to him, but speculation frew into rumours which blossomed into belief, and soon everyone knew of another Vargas brother, one who's death had driven Feliciano crazy, causing him to become bi-polar because of his grief, and that was why the tragic painter had moved into an unknown neighbourhood where there was no one they knew, to make a fresh start.

This was a story much more dramatic and enthralling than that of the german brothers, who, upon hearing the runours, had told two distinctively different stories. The elder brother, Gilbert, had enraptured the room with an enthralling story of getting mixed in with a bad crowd, enemies throwing rocks through windows, and and attempted kidnapping, ending, of course, with his dramatic rescue of a tearfull and frightened little brother that the neighbours could barely imagine by looking at the stiff and formal younger brother.

The younger brother endure the elders story up until his own introduction at the climax, then finally stepped in, chopping his brother on the head, and declaring his story as a fake. His own story had been plently less entertaining, stating that they had grown tired of there hometown and were looking for a new start. No one doubted that the younger brother's story was the truth, and regretfully focuses their attention back on the mysterious, now tragically painted, Senor Vargas.


	11. China

The world isn't ending. 

It's been falling apart for a long time, and it will continue to fall apart long into the future. Things may be changing, but this isn't the end. It's only the beginning.

It's with this nihilistic attitude that China watches his great Wall fall down, the same attitude Egypt has as his pyramids are blasted and crumble like sand. The same attitude all the older countries bear. Some of the countries that once were will not be there when the world puts itself back together again.

China isn't afraid of this truth. He knows he may very well be one of them. China watches, peacefully, as the fire grows nearer, as hail the size of Volkswagens fall from sky, one landing dangerously near him.

He watches until the last of his wall is demolished, and then finally, serenely, he turns to go back to his people, safely hidden away in bunkers. Not all of them, just the ones needed to restart the country. Doctors, government officials, farmers and mechanics, anyone with skills.

There is a mother somewhere nearby, sobbing as she clutches her child to her chest, wanting to protect him. It's too late though. China knows the child is already gone. China doesn't look at her. He can't. Because there isn't enough room in the bunkers for everyone. Barely a third of his population is safely hidden away. 

Over two thirds of his population is dying. China wonders if he's been driven mad by the collective weight of the hopelessness of the ones he'd abandoned, mixed with the despair of the ones who'd been torn from their families, that they might be saved. He kows that he should want to fight, want to save them, want to save himself.

A part of him still does, but the greater part tells him there's no use, his fate is decided. China knows there is nothing he can do. There's no physical enemy to battle, strategy he can use to defeat the enemy. Not just China, but the whole world, is fighting the elements. When it comes to man vs nature, nature always wins.

He feels, rather than sees, the hail approaching, the sudden cold blocking out the sun, and then a sudden darkness, and when he does look, he knows he will be hit. He's not fast enough to move. China wonders briefly how he'll survive from this. He still has land, he still has people, China the country, cannot die yet.

China looks at the incoming chuck of ice unwaveringly. A small part of him says he deserves this, to take the blows his citizens are taking. China will not move.

Moments before the hail hits, China sees black.


	12. GENERAL WINTER

Its 2 am and Russia wakes up crying.He usually tries to hide when he's upset from his big sisters because he doesnt like the way her young face crumples and creases at the sight of his tears. Even though hes still only around the size of a 5 year old, he's already old enough to know his sister looks prettiest with a smile. Under normal circumstances, Russia would curl into his blanket and wipe away his own tears, stifling his sobs into the cloth, but there's a sucession of events tonight that elicts the piercing cry from his throat and brings the half alseep Ukraine scurrying from her room to Russia's, eyes wide with worry. 

"Little brother, whats wrong?" Ukraine's face is already folding, creases appearing on her childish face. Russia regrets his scream aa soon as it escapes, but it's too late for him to take it back, and a Russia doesnt want hia sister to go away. He promises himself this is the last time he'll be so childish.

"There's a man outside the window!"

He chokes out, and Ukraine glances into the raging blizzard in dark with concern. She doesn't think Russia's lying to her, as far as she's concerned he doesn't know how to lie, and Russia strives to keep her trust in him well placed because of this. Still, it doesn't seem likely that theres a person outside in the weather. 

"Maybe its one of your people?" She suggests placatingly, but Russia shakes his head in denial.

"No, i cant feel him. Hes one of them


	13. America is happy

Alfred F. Jones, the personification of America, is happy. Almost too happy, bouncing on his toes, unable to stay still, like there's a fire underneath his heels. His beam is larger than normal, solid enough to rival Russia's, although strangly it seems just as devoid of humor. There's no stars shining in his eyes, in fact, his eyes aren't shining at all. Something about him seems inherently wrong, and everybody notices.

He paces back and forth, babbling non-stop about nothing in particular, slurping at a soda cup that everyone can tell is empty. There's a slight tremble to his fingers as he starts to write on the chalkboard, and he quickly abandons the idea, tossing the chalk carelessly to the side, then uncharacteristicly jumps when it misses the chalktray and clatters to the floor. Something about America seems unhinged and it scares the other countries.

England is the first to address the subject, unusually timid. "Alfred" He begins awkwardly, cutting off America's tirade about a Ronald McDonald robot that could defend against aliens - Not Tony, of course--he makes sure to add, but stops in his tracks at England's question. "Are you okay?" Not just America's fingers, but also the edges of his lips are trembling, and he makes an expression that Arthur, the nation of England, has never seen before.

It's a strange strained expression, similar to the expression Japan wore earlier when he tried to politely choke down one of England's scones, but there's a desperation in his eyes that doesn't quite fit. "Huh?" Alfred doesn't seem to understand, and England repeats his question, growing more and more concerned. "Alfred, are you alright?" Alfred's twitchiness becomes more noticeable and he's started to bounce again. "Dude, of course I am! Why would you even ask?" His forced grin is too wide, and even Russia looks afraid, covertly barring his chest behind the metal pipe as he crosses his arms.

"You just.. Seem a bit jumpy." England presses hesitantly, like he can tell there's a bomb just beneath the surface, and one wrong move will set it off. America laughs, and it's terrifying. A hollow, raucous laugh that reverberates around the small room, too much laughter for the situation. "I had like, 8 energy drinks this morning because I was up all night playing COD." America offers, but his story doesn't compute.

Japan has stayed up all night gaming with America before, and he's never seemed so tired from it, and Australia once challenged him to see who could drink the most energy drinks before throwing up. Alfred had made it to 9 before England caught wind of the bet and shut it down. He had been excitable at that time, but it was more similar to "I'm going to race you across the dover strait and back and then challenge you to a dodgeball match" kind of energy, not like this.

America's lie is obvious, even to those who don't know these things, and it sets them all on edge. Something that America feels the need to hide, that has him collapsing into a whirlwind of chaos, is a terrify concept to everyone. 

France disappears to find the quieter of the North American brothers, hopeful that Canada can stop the disaster before whatever America is bottling up escapes and breaks through the dam America is trying to hide behind. Hong Kong is concerned for his brother, and meets America's eyes across the room, trying to read the story behind his brother's muted panic. America only meets his gaze for a moment, and what Hong Kong sees there has him scurrying for a different family member with the urgency of one running from a fire.

Lithuania, in an attempt to calm the frenzied nation, decides to throw him a bone, asking him about a baseball game he had with his brother the other day. America flinches, undeniably, and England recognizes the look in his eyes. It's a look that tells him something is very, very wrong. It takes England a moment to remember the name of his other, less noticeable colony, but when he does, the question isnt asked by him, but by France, reappearing breathlessly at his side. "Where's Canada?" France demands, shakily, looking quite viscious for the normally cowardly country.

America takes a step back, looking ready to run, and France looks ready to launch himself at America's throat. England catches Frances arm and pulls him back, insisting he "Calm down, you damn frog!" Because England recognizes the look in America's eyes and its not guilt. It's fear. Sealand, hidden behind Sweden's legs where he was shepherded by Finland, doesn't understand what's going on with his ex-family. He didn't spend enough time with each of them to read the social cues.

Hong-Kong, reappearing with China, is palming what looks suspiciously like acupuncture needles into his pockets. His shifty nature and refusal to explain is putting China on edge, and he follows his former colony with concern. Hong Kong stares at Australia until the other country notices, and when Australia meets his eyes, Hong-Kong tilts his head towards the door before slipping silently away. Australia follows, quickly, nabbing Prussia by the arm and hauling him along too, much too Germany's confusion.

Prussia's loud sputtering isn't gone unnoticed by America, and it distracts him from his panic momentarily, as he furrows his brow at his brother. It's only a moment of distraction, but it's enough. Russia moves on England's hand signals and catches America in an armlock from behind. Switerland grabs Litchenstien and pulls her out of the room before things get messy. America panics like a bouncy ball thrown in a China shop, and if not for Russia's strong arms holding him back, he may very well have bounced off the walls, or even broken through one.

"Calm down." England soothes, using a tone from America's distant past, as though he was a child, and while it doesn't have the effect he was hoping for, it pisses America off enough to make him forget his panic. "I'm not a child!" America snaps, temporarily freezing.


	14. Corona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Hetalia 2020"

China, pushing the corona virus under the bed with one foot:  
"What virus. We're fine? Its America's fault, i swear!"

The whole world: "china. We know it was you. We were RIGHT HERE when you ate the soup, then spread the virus!"

China, snapping a mask on and coughing violently. "No virus here. Funeral homes are lying about the death rate!"

Random reporter: "so there is in fact a shit ton of corona and deaths in china-"

BANG.

China quickly hides the gun. "There. Is. No. Virus. Here."

A Random chinese citizen coughs.

America points at her. "Then explain that!"

China is having a coughing fit and barely manages to wheeze out that he "only just got it now."

No one believes him.

Meanwhile, North korea has taken an unorthodox but effective approach to eliminate Corona, and therefore didnt bother to attend.

*North Korea citizen coughs*

BANG.

North korea stick his gun back in its holster, satisfied.


	15. Canada, The Child

Kumajiro knew who his owner was. He always did. Even though he might forget his name all the time, it wasn't his fault. After all, Kumajiro had been with him since he was young, before France found him, and before England took him. His owner had many names through his life, and although Kumajiro was good with faces, he was terrible with names. So, even when Kumajiro asked "Who are you?" what he meant was "what is your name?". After all, Kumajiro knew who his owner was.

Or, that's what he had thought. Now as he stared at the full-grown man, sitting on the floor, clothing a mess, and crying for his papa in a plantative tone he had never heard before, Kumajiro wasn't so sure he knew who this person was. He had never seen his owner act like this before, his whole life, and it scared him.

Kumajiro knew he needed help. He couldn't deal with this new version of his owner on his own, but how was he supposed to get help? He was only a bear, and he couldn't even remember his owner's name. How was he supposed to get help for him? 

Kumajiro quickly discovered his paws were too large to use a cell phone. He considered the phone, before grabbing it and carrying it over to the sniffling country. He nudged the phone towards him and spoke to him. "Can you push this button for me?" His owner looked at him with wide eyes and stared at the phone as if he'd never seen one before. Finally, slowly, his owner reached out his hand and timurously pushed the requested button. He jumped back in surprise when the phone began to ring, and the bear pulled it towards him eagerly.

"Yo, dude! What's up?" the obnoxious voice on the other end of the phone said cheerfully. 

"Um, I need help." The polar bear said, suddenly realizing he should have planned out what he was going to say ahead of time.

"Huh?" the other voice seemed confused.

"I need help, my owner isn't..." Kumajiro faltered. "He isn't ok."

The person on the other end of the phone considered this, then responded. "Well, you came to the right person if you need help! After all, I'm the hero!" Kumajiro felt relieved at those words, then the voice asked the one question Kumajiro couldn't answer. "So, who needs help?" the bear froze, then turned to the man behind him, staring patiently at his back.

"Who are you?" 

The man titled his head to the side, innocently, and responded in French. "Quoi?" 

Kumajiro had picked up enough French by hanging around his owner to know what that question meant. It meant his owner didn't understand what he just said. He tried, with the limited French he knew, to ask again 

"Qui?" 

He asked, pointing to the man. The blonde looked mistified at this question, only answering "Non?". Kumajiro felt frustrated and upset.

"I don't know." he said into the phone woefully. "I don't know what his name is, but I need help." he sniffled a little himself. 

The voice on the other end hesitated, and the bear realized that he must have been checking the caller ID, because his next question was "Why are you calling from my brother's phone? Where's Canada?" the name sounded vaguely familiar, but the bear couldn't place a face to it.

"Who?"

The voice on the other end turned grim. "I'm coming right away."


	16. For alaska

"Hey bro, you and Russia look pretty intense. Whatcha playing for?" 

Canada didn't even glance at him, keeping sharp eyes fixed on Russia's face. 

"Alaska." 

"Hey wait a minute! Alaska is mine! You can't bet that.!" 

Russia spared him a half glance and grinned at America's expression. 

"America will fall eventually. We are playing to see who can claim Alaska when you do." 

America turned to Canada betrayed. 

"Bro?" 

Canada flinched. 

"It's just a silly bet, America. Not like youre going to dissolve anytime soon, right?" 

But Canada looked a little too invested for someone with 'just a silly bet'. He looked awfully serious.


	17. What Mathew did

America didn't understand how it came to this. The day had started out normal. He got up and made himself breakfast and packed a lunch before his foster father Arthur got up and tried to help. After that he caught the bus to school, hung out with the same people as always, including Yao, his Chinese friend and Ivan, his sometimes-rival. They played a quick game of soccer at the park with some other schoolmates after school, and then he came straight home. So why was it he was sitting here getting punished for something he didn't do?

He gritted his teeth as Arthur continued his tirade with no end in sight. Arthur's boyfriend, Francis, made no move to stop him, giving Alfred a sad look. Alfred had enough, and knowing that Arthur was nowhere near done, interrupted him loudly. "I said I've never done drugs in my life!" He denied angrily. "Why won't you believe me?" He was angry that Arthur hadn't even given him a chance to speak or defend himself. He was angry that Arthur was so convinced that he did drugs even though he definitely hadn't and there was no reason for him to believe that. Most of all, he was angry because of the expression on Arthur's face after he denied it, a look of hurt and betrayal, and though Alfred had betrayed him somehow.

Francis gave Alfred a sad look,, as though wishing Alfred would just admit it before things got any worse. Alfred threw him an angry look too. Why did they both refuse to believe him? The answer came from Arthur's next sentence. "I saw you Alfred!" he spat, like an angry cat. "I saw you smoking pot earlier, and you have the audacity to lie to my face?" his voice shook with emotion. "Well, what do you have to say now?" he demanded, his tone tinging on hysterical. Alfred had a lot he could say. A realization swept over him, and he bit back his words, and dropped his head. Arthur took his actions as admittance to the crime.

Arthur bent his head in his hands despairingly. "Where did I go wrong?" Alfred could name many places where Arthur went wrong, but the one foremost on his mind was the fact Arthur still couldn't tell Alfred and his twin apart, even after all these years. "I hate to do this to you Alfred, but you're grounded." Arthur announced with a shaking voice. "Fine." Alfred spoke up finally. "then, are we done here?" he stood up, grabbing his bag. "I'm going to my room. I need to study." He didn't wait for Arthur's sputtered response, and only took off, stomping up the stairs as Arthur snapped behind him "Alfred! I'm not done talking to you!" Alfred respond by slamming his door as hard as he could. For a moment he leaned against the door, trying to catch his thoughts, feeling scattered and dizzy.   
  
Once he calmed down, he took out his phone and texted his brother. "You might want to stay out tonight." he texted. "or at least take a shower at a friends before you come home." The response came almost instantly, to Alfred's surprise. "Why? What's wrong?" Mathew texted. "Did you fight with Arthur again?" Alfred couldn't help but feel irratated at this, and his next text lacked some of the good intentions his first texts held. "yeah. You could say that. Arthur's on the warpath because for SOME REASON he thinks I was smoking POT earlier." His brother's responding text was short, but it said a lot. "Oh." Alfred didn't get the chance to text back as his phone started ringing. He picked up quickly, before Arthur heard and tried to confiscate his phone. "Hey." His tone was short and toneless. "Al..." His brother's voice was soft, but undeniably guilty . "I-" he struggled for words, but Alfred cut him off. "I didn't tell him , or Francis, you know." he struggled to keep his voice monotone, but there was a harshness to the way the words were spoken.   
  
"Thanks." His brother's voice was pitifully grateful. Alfred frowned. "This isn't over." He scolded. "I want to talk to you when you come home." He inwardly cringed at how much he sounded like his foster father. There was a slight hesitation from the other end of the phone, then his brother responded in a small tone "okay." For a moment Alfred's heart skipped a beat at the defeated tone, and he remembered a whispered promised from long ago. _"I'll always be on your side." "You won't hate me?" "Never."_ Just before the line disconnected, Alfred blurted out. "I'll always be on your side, Mattie, no matter what." The breath of relief from the other side was all Alfred needed to know he made the right call. "Thanks Al." The line disconnected.


	18. Dreaming of Death

A glance to the left, then to the right. A tight expression, then a step forwards. That's all it takes. 

Mathew's been dreaming of Alfred's death for weeks now. 

Alfred wakes up crying. Not, not Alfred, Mathew. He's been having a nightmare for weeks now, getting consistantly clearer. He dreams that he's Alfred. In his dreams, Alfred does something unspeakable, something Mathew cant even make himself say. The worst part is, in his dreams, Mathew understands why. When he wakes up, he knows it's unthinkable, an inexcusable action, but in his dreams, when Mathew is Alfred, the decision is obvious, the tightness in his chest tells him that this is the only way he can make the pain go away. 

The first time Mathew woke up from this nightmare, he was sick. He'd rushed to the toilet and heaved over the rim, expelling only bile, but his stomach still twisted from the dream. At first he'd played dumb. He'd pretended everything was fine when he talked to Alfred, pasted on a smile and ignored it as just a nightmare. But then the dream happened the next night. And the next night. 

On the third night, Mathew called Alfred to check on him, to confirm he was alfright. Alfred hadn't answered, and Mathew had been struck with this deep-seated terrible fear. He'd barely thrown a coat over his pajamas, grabbed his car keys and driven to Alfred's apartment. By the time he got there it was dawn, and Mathew made it to the front step before he couldn't move any further. 

He knew where Alfred kept the spare key, all he had to do was lean down, pick up the matt and he would have the key. He could easily let himself in. He couldn't make himself do it. It had already been hours since he'd had the dream. Hours since he'd called and Alfred didn't pick up. Mathew had been terrified. In the end, he had stayed frozen in his pajamas on Alfred's door step for hours, unable to move, until 7:30 hit and his phone began to ring. 

When he'd checked the caller ID, it had been Alfred. He'd bolted to the car, not wanting Alfred to hear the ringtone from his own front step, before answering the call. Alfred had sounded tired and confused as he answered.

"Mattie, bro, Wassup? Why'd you call at 3 am?" 

How could he explain it? Mathew stumbled over his words, playing it off as a nightmare, and apologized weakly. When Alfred asked what Matthew's nightmare was about, his throat went dry, and Mathew couldn't say anything at all. He thought he'd caught sight of his brother in the apartment window, opening the blinds, and sunk down lower in his his truck, reassuring himself that Alfred wouldn't even notice his vehicle among all the others in the lot. Even so, his heart slipped a beat when Alfred had asked in a strange tone "Are you at home?"

He'd laughed it off and told Alfred he was was still in bed, and waited a few minutes after hanging up the phone before driving back home.

On the fourth night, Mathew cried alone in his bedroom and tried to drown the nightmare with alcohol. On the fifth night, Mathew didn't sleep at all. He didn't sleep the sixth night either. On the sixth day, Mathew passed out on his kitchen floor, and the nightmare happened again. Mathew didn't eat dinner that night when he woke up. 

On the seventh night, Mathew took a little white pill before bed and didn't dream at all. He still woke up crying.


	19. When the light goes out

Alfred Jones snapped awake from his dream, bolting upright as the click of the gun rang in his ears. It only took him a minute to realize it wasn't the click of a gun priming he had heard, but the sound of a suitcase clasp being clipped shut. It only took moments for him to be out of bed, mimicking his brother's actions as he repacked the few items he'd taken out of his suitcase and threw on his wrinkled jeans. "Again?" He grumbled crankily, throwing an exasperated look at his brother.

Matthew's only response was to tighten his lips into a thin line as he pulled on his ruffled jacket. Alfred followed suit, throwing his own thick jacket on and grabbing his suitcase. Only moments later he followed Mathew out the hotel window and down the fire escape, tossing his suitcase into the back seat of the battered pickup truck waiting there before wrenching open the passenger door and throwing himself into the passenger's seat. Mathew closed the door softly behind him, almost noiselessy, then crossed to the other side of the car and slipped into the driver's side, shutting the door with a gentle click.

Alfred scowled at the frozen puffs of breath hanging in the frigid early morning air, and Mathew caught the hint, guiltily turning up the heat. The engine started with a gentle churring noise, too loudly for the brother's preference, and Mathew and Alfred exchanged cautious glances. No shouts broke the through the dark, no sudden flashlights, no sharp voice and click of a gun. Alfred nodded to Mathew, and his brother brought the car around, slipping casually around the hotel. The truck was inconspicuous, old enough to be worn and look used, new enough to work well and not look out of place. Exactly what they needed to keep their cover. 

The car went unnoticed by the man in the sharp black suit speaking to the pale receptionist, flashing something Alfred knew to be identification. He slumped down in his seat, pulling his hood over his head. Mathew had dug out a toque from in between the seats and slipped it on too, as though hiding. Both brothers made sure not to gaze at the man at the desk. People tended to know when they were being watched, and this man, more than most.

Still, almost against his will, Alfred caught the reflection of the man's piercing eyes in the window as they drove past, and sunk even lower in his seat with a shudder. It wasn't until they hit the road that Mathew finally broke the silence. "I didn't think he'd find us here." He offered weakly. "British people are notoriously bad against the snow." Alfred grunted and fished a ragged blanket out of the trunk, draping it over himself. He curled into himself against the cold blanket, not much warmer than the frosty air, and shut his brother a look that was colder still. He was tired, cold, and pissed off. "Matt, I love you because you're my brother." He said slowly, and Mathew seemed to wilt further into himself, tightening his grip on the wheel, "But I don't have to like you." He added bluntly, twisting in his seat to turn the other way.

Mathew didn't blink, keeping his blank eyes trained firmly on the road. Both Mathew and Alfred knew his anger was justified.

After all, it was Matthew's fault he was in the mess.


	20. A letter from Hogwarts

Three 11 year old boys wake up with a letter in the mailbox.

Ravis, Peter, and kugelmugel (Christoph) all get a letter to Hogwarts.

"What about ladonia (larsl?)

Peter kicks a foot." he didn't get one. "

Ravis goes quiet." he must be so sad. "

Peter snorted half-heartedly." He told me he can't wait till I'm gone then he's gonna take over my room."

They get to school. They find out the Italian boy down the street is enrolled there, in fact all his family is, he's a pureblood. 

Peter's birn dad is a teacher there and a wizard, 

Kugelmugel is from all muggle family, and Ravis is an orphan so he doesn't know.

They meet a Slytherin wy who is in a constant state of stop talking to me

Peter end up in Gryffindor, Kugelmugel in Raven claw, Ravis is in Gryffindor and he's shocked because he doesn't think he's brave enough. 

Seborga is naturally hufflepuff. He comes from a long line of huffle puff, but the black sheep of the family Romano ended up in Slytherin 

Ravis is the first one in his class to do a floating charm correctly, and he starts crying when everyone claps

"I always thought I'd die alone in some alley after being beaten with no accomplishments! C Latviacries

Everyone is concerned 

Sealand goes home on Christmas break to see his family and Ladonia cried because he missed him.

sealand gives Ladonia an item he enchanted himself as a Christmas giftt.

"So you can be a wizard too even if you can't use magic!" 

Austria is so regal and proper that other wizards assume he's a pureblood when they see him waiting Three 11 year old boys wake up with a letter in the mailbox.

Ravis, Peter, and kugelmugel (Christoph) all get a letter to Hogwarts.

"What about ladonia (larsl?)

Peter kicks a foot." he didn't get one. "

Ravis goes quiet." he must be so sad. "

Peter snorted half-heartedly." He told me he can't wait till I'm gone then he's gonna take over my room."

They get to school. They find out the Italian boy down the street is enrolled there, in fact all his family is, he's a pureblood. 

Peter's birn dad is a teacher there and a wizard, 

Kugelmugel is from all muggle family, and Ravis is an orphan so he doesn't know.

They meet a Slytherin wy who is in a constant state of stop talking to me

Peter end up in Gryffindor, Kugelmugel in Raven claw, Ravis is in Gryffindor and he's shocked because he doesn't think he's brave enough. 

Seborga is naturally hufflepuff. He comes from a long line of huffle puff, but the black sheep of the family Romano ended up in Slytherin 

Ravis is the first one in his class to do a floating charm correctly, and he starts crying when everyone claps

"I always thought I'd die alone in some alley after being beaten with no accomplishments! C Latviacries

Everyone is concerned 

Sealand goes home on Christmas break to see his family and Ladonia cried because he missed him.

sealand gives Ladonia an item he enchanted himself as a Christmas giftt.

"So you can be a wizard too even if you can't use magic!" 

Austria is so regal and proper that other wizards assume he's a pureblood when they see him waiting at the station and are shocked when he pulls out car keys. 

Sealand runs intoat the station and are shocked when he pulls out car keys. 

Sealand runs into


	21. A prisoner, a cat and a hero

Arthur is tired. It's more than the usual weariness he feels at the end of the day, or after a meeting. It's an exhaustion that seems to permeate all the way through his bruised and battered skin, all the way down to his aching bones and several cracked ribs. A great part of the exhaustion comes from the ever-growling hunger in his stomach, a result of not having eaten anything more than half a loaf of bread and a bucket of water over the past few days. Most of the exhaustion comes from the constant stress, though.

He can never seem to relax enough to fully fall asleep, always listening for the heavy foot falls that come at all hours, and he wonders if this is their intention; to leave him sleep deprived and paranoid until they get what they want. If so, their plan is definitely working. It's been almost a month since Arthur was captured, and he's come close to giving in many times. There's only 3 things stopping his from surrendering completely. 

The first is his pride, firm and unbending, refusing to fall low enough to submit to his captors. The second is a feeling no less intense, his survival instinct, coupled with the fact he knows that if he submits, they will kill him. But even with that as the case, the thought has crossed Arthur's mind more than once that he wouldn't mind too much if this were to end, if he were to just give up and the pain and the weariness would go away, and he could fall asleep and not wake back up.

But the third reason for his continued rebellion will not let him give in. The unconscious form of the youth sleeping peacefully by his side, his single curl in his golden hair bobbing with each breath he takes, unaware of the chaos of the world or in Arthur's hearts and he is lost to the world of sleep. The boy is not quite a son and not quite a brother to Arthur, but irreplaceable all the same.

Once, both this boy and his twin had been under Arthur's care, and Arthur had loved and treasured them both. Or at least, he had meant to, but he had messed up, taken things too far, and one of the boys, the elder one, had left him. It was the younger one, more quiet, more hesitant to speak up under oppression and willing to bear with all Arthur's tempers, that stayed by his side at that time. Even now, in the dirty depth of a dungeon, caged behind bars with only dirty straw and cement to sleep on, even with hunger gnawing at his stomach and bruises littering his skin, he still stayed by Arthur's side.

Arthur doesn't regret anything more. He wishes that the boy had stayed hidden as Arthur ordered when the attack first came, that he hadn't come out of his hiding place, that he hadn't tried to fight and save Arthur. Arthur wishes with all his heart that the boy wasn't there now. The boy is soft-spoken and unassuming, often seeming to melt into the background and disappear. It's this feature that has let the boy stay as unscathed as he is, so far. He only has light bruises and scratches, no deep wounds or broken bones and Arthur is grateful or at least that.

But even that can't last much longer. Arthur isnt strong enough to protect the boy anymore. He can no longer afford to drawn the attention for himself, to take the blows meant for the boy. Arthur is wounded, emaciated, and exhausted and he knows that If this continues, he will die. That's why Arthur makes a terrifying decision. To use his final trump card to send the boy to safety. 

It's a dangerous decision, he knows, more multiple reasons, but that doesn't stop him from prying the long thin, splintering piece of wood from its hiding place between the cracks in the concrete. Arthur is grateful that his captor doesn't beleive in the art of magic, as that gives him the upper hand. Still, he only has enough magic left for one more spell, and he can't afford to waste it. He knows that this one spell will drain all his energy, leaving him completely powerless, both magically and physically. He doesn't care, as long as the boy escapes, though. Arthur has long ago prepared himself for the fact he likely won't get out alive.

He hears footsteps coming down the long winding staircase and knows he has to move fast. He leans over and gently shakes the boy awake. "Mathew, wake up." He hisses. The boy is awake in an instant, his quiet eyes looking calmy to Arthur to hear what's needed of him. Arthur feels guiltier still for what he's about to do, but reminds himself its for the boy's own good. "I need you to get help." He lies to the boy, knowing the youth will never willingly leave without that reason. The boy blinks his round eyes and opens his mouth, no doubt to ask how, but Arthur cuts him off. "Il cast a spell. It'll transform you. Find someone you can trust and run to them." He's speaking urgently. There isn't any time.

"Can you do this for me, lad?" The question is rhetorical. The boy will do anything for him, and Arthur knows it, and he loves him for it. Arthur just wishes he didn't have to lie to trick the boy into saving himself. Arthur wishes he had never dragged the child into this at all. The boy, barely understanding what will happen, but sensing the urgency, responds simply with a grim nod, and that's enough. Arthur begins his chant, swishing his wand. The spell is almost completed when the wand splinters.

Arthur curses, hoping against all hope that spell still worked. For a moment nothing happens. The footsteps outside the door stop, and Arthur's heart sinks. Not for the first time, he begins to despair. Everything he's done so far, all of his efforts will come to naught. Then, as keys jingle in the door to the dungeon, something changes. 

The boy next to him looks surprised for a moment, shrinking smaller, eyes round and hair raised, his features changing to something mess human, till he turns, pointed cat ears laying back against his skull as the boy, now turned feline, looks to Arthur for reasurrance. Arthur breathes a breath of relief and lays a gentle hand on the boy's head and nods encouragingly. "I'm counting on you, lad." The boy will never understand the weight behind Arthur's words. He cant understand what Arthur means, what he means to Arthur. He cant know that nit Arthur's life, but his heart, depends on the boy's saftey. 

But the dungeon dpor is opening, and theres no time to lose. Arthur picks the cat up and slips it through the bars of the cage, dropping it on the other side. The cat freezes, sensing something beyond human capabilities, and fixes him with a final stare, a message without words, but ever so clear. A message of concern, determination, fear, and above all, love. Then as his captor sets his first foot into the dungeon, the cat takes off, sidling up against the frame and slipping indiscernably by the guard's feet, disapearing through the open door. 

Arthur's heart breaks to see him go, but ne knows he no longer has a choice. This is the only way he can protect the youth now. Beneath the pain, theres anothing feeling growing, sprouting from the darkness in his heart. Victory. They cant break him amymore. His heart, his soul, is safe. He follows the vlack shoes that are stationed in front of him up to the face of the person, towering over him, and almost subconsciously his lips turn up. At the look of wariness and confusion, the smile grows into something larger, and somehow more dangerous.

Arthur throws back his head and laughs.


	22. Grounded

Whenever England grounds America, Canada pretends to be him, as Canada hates going out anyways. Canada, of course, never gets punished, and since England can't tell the difference between the two, and this arrangement works well for a Bit. Until England's estranged ex, and also Matthew's father, shows back up in their life. 

Canada busied himself trying to look like he was studying. "Is everything alright?" France asked, poking his head inside the door. "Yes, just studying." Canada responded almost routinely. There was silence, and then

"Mathieu? Where is ton frere?"

Mathew froze.

"We need to talk." France said grimly, leading a mortified and scared Canada into the room.

England looked up casually. "Yes? Oh, What did that child do now?" He sounded exasperated. "Can't you behave while you are grounded?"

"That's just the thing." France responded cooly. "He is not grounded. Alfred is."

England had face blindness for twins. France recommends separating them 

Human names probably 

"How many times?" England asked in despair. "How many times have I punished you instead of Alfred?"


	23. The boy who didn't exist

Canada thought he must be a ghost, or maybe America's imaginary friend. It made more sense that way, after all. Why else did everyone seem to look right through him as though he were thin air, or walk past him like he was not there at all? Why didn't people seem to hear his voice? And if they did, the would shuffle and jump, murmuring nervously and looking around for the source of the humble murmur as though searching for an invisible man. It was rare that they saw him.

England sometimes saw him of course, but Canada knew England saw a lot of thing he couldn't see, a lot of things America said didn't exist, so that didn't help to convince Canada at all. It was true, there used to be a time when he had been held and loved by someone, and Canada had felt very real then, but that was a long time ago. Now, those memories were hazy at best, and Canada wondered if the memories of the long blonde hair and stubbly chin were a dream.

America saw Canada the most, but that didn't mean anything more than that. Somedays, America would see Canada and come running, forcing Canada to play a game with him - usually ending in Canada crying and bruised - or to join America in reading stories of heros and knights, or to hear about America s day, complaints, highlight and all. But it was rare for America to ask Canada about his day, or to offer to play what Canada wanted, or to offer remorse when Canada got hurt.

Or rather, America acted like nothing to do with Canada mattered, which only helped convince Canada he wasn't real. Most times, when America saw Canada, he chose to ignore him, turning his bright eyes away to something shinier, noisier, more eye-catching, and America would keep going. And even though Canada always woke up when America woke up crying with a nightmare, even though Canada always slipped out of his bed and padded his way over to America's to wipe the tears away, America never woke up when Canada had a nightmare, and would rush to his brother's bed in a fit of tears, calling for America's attention in his small, pitiful voice.

If England had a tea party in the garden, sometime Canada didn't receive an invitation, written in beautiful curling script, though most times he did. On the days he didnt recieve an invitation, Canada focused on teaching Kumajiro his name, but even the bear couldn't seem to remember it, and in the end, Canada would get frustrated and give up, and focus instead of drawing himself with crayons, a sort of proof he existed.

On the days he was invited, he would sit happily at his spot sipping his tea - delicately, as he'd been taught- as England and America seemed to hold a conversation right over his head. Even though they were both in front of him, Canada just could never seem to find a way to join in the conversation. Sometimes, England forgot to refill Canada's cup when he refilled his and America's, and Canada would slip down and leave, quietly, but neither brother noticed.


	24. Concerned about Russia

America folded his hands together and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, an uncharacteristicly serious look on his face. He looked solemnly at each country around the table, meeting eye contact with each for a brief moment each. Finally, he spoke, his face twisting like he was being forced to say something unpleasant.

"I'm concerned... about Russia." 

And with just those words the tense atmosphere shattered as England stood up from his seat in an annoyed way and snapped "America! We've gone over this! Just because Russia hasnt been around for a while, doesnt mean hes plotting to destroy the world!"

"Honestly," France sighed, "he might be scary but he is not _evil_ _,_ just let him be!"

"That's not it!" America snapped back, frustrated, slamming his hands on the table. "He's missed two world meetings! What if something happened to him?"

There was a general collection of murmurs that spread across the table, and China watched with large eyes. Of course, China had been the one who approached America and mentioned this concern casually, hoping to encourage America to take action, but even he hadn't been expecting America to take it so seriously. It was almost as if-

"America, are you worried about Russia?" England sounded blown away.

America froze, looking conflicted.

"Does it matter?" Australia cut in loudly. "Mate's got a point." Everyone turned to look at him. Australia stopped chewing on his toothpick to explain. "I mean, if nothing's wrong, that's fine, who doesnt like a visit? But if something did happen to the largest country on earth, then its bound to affect the rest of us so it'd be good to know ahead of time."

Australia finished his short speech and helped himself to one of America's cokes. England stared at Australia in shock.

"That...actually makes sense..."

"Then, are you going to go check on him, aru?" China asked cautiously.

Australia snorted. "No way, mate, I've got a _hot_ climate, I'd die before i made it there."

France shuddered, having personal experience on trying to get into Russia's house in the winter. 

"Then who will go?" France ventured. "Even America couldn't make it to Russia's place in a snowstorm like this!" 

"He's right!" New Zealand added from where he was rooting through America's cooler. "You'd need to at least have a country used to dealing with snow with you." 

China's face fell as he realized this fact. "Aru, i hadn't though of it. And nobody here has a cold climate..."

He sighed heavily, and the air grew somber for a minite, the only sound the raging snowstorm outside. Everyone exchanged glances that said "Well, what can You do?" America just looked confused. 

"What do you mean?" He asked, looking baffled. "He do have a country used to the cold here?" 

England sighed heavily through his nose. "America, no matter how much of a" hero" you are, even you cannot-"

America cut him off mid-sentence. "Not me, dude? Canada!"

He pulled on his brother's arm, and everyone became aware of Canada suddenly, with many gasps of shock, and England cut himself off midway through asking "who?"


	25. Mermaids

There were a lot of different races of mermaids, whether it be the cold blooded Artic mermaids, known for their strength and sharp decision making, or the free-spirited Pacific mermaids, or the haughty tropical mermaids, who spent most of their time grooming their hair and admiring their colourful tail.

Of course, as a poly-aquatic merman himself, Arthur had the unfortunate experience of meeting more different types of mermaids than he'd like to have if given the choice, and he was beggining to consider marking "Freshwater mermaids" right under "Tropical mermaids" on his list of most obnoxious race, though for entirely different reasons.

Tropical mermaids were obnoxious for always showing off their tails and generally looking down or pitying species without bright tails. As a salmon species merman, Arthur only had the misfortune of meeting the tropical type occassially, but on all 4 occasions, his tail had been scoffed at mutiple times, as was his short hair, and his rebuffs that only tropical mermaids and some Artic mermaids grew their hair out long, so technically they were the wierd ones, went unheeded. 

One tropical mermaid in particular had made a habit of flicking his long blond hair in Arthur's face. Arthur really didn't like that merman who went by the name of "Francis", a ridiculously fluttery name.

Unfortunately, it seemed that this merman possessed the skill to tell when he was disliked, and made an extra effort to appear whenever Arthur was around to be able to flaunt more efficiently. Which is why Arthur had decided to avoid him by going the opposite way and venturing upstream into freshwater.

This is how he had the misfortune of meeting the obnoxious freshwater mermaids. At first Arthur had assumed it was just that one mermaid he'd met that was obnoxious. He soon learned it was unfortunately not the case. The freshwater mermaids were friendly, but that was the problem. The friendly mermaids didn't seem to be able to listen, instead, they tended to get an idea in their head, then accept that idea as reality and act on it.

Therefore, naturally, when Arthur had told them he was only passing through, they had immediately responded as though he had said he was staying a while, and made preparations as such. To add to Arthur's irritation at being completely ignored, the Merman who decided that Arthur could live with him during the stay was even more obnoxious than the rest, and would not shut up. 

About 20 minutes after he'd entered Freshwater territory, he'd been abducted by the bright eyed merman, talking a mile a minute and hadn't gotten a word in since his initial stiff greeting. As the blond continued to prattle on, Arthur came to the sad conclusion that it was not about to end anytime soon. He reflected that maybe freshwater mermaids just liked hearing themselves speak.

Finally, he had enough, and cut off the stream of babble shortly. 

"I'm quite sorry, but I'm afraid that I can't stay long." 

Immediately the merman seemed to deflate. "You're not staying?" his blue eyes slipped down, and he flicked his tail a little sharply as he spoke. The sun reflected of his hair in a way that made it seem golden, not at all like the dirty blonde of Arthur's own hair.


	26. Mathew was 16

Mathew was 16 when his identical twin brother, Alfred, disappeared.

At first, no one even knew Alfred was missing. There had been a lot of fights recent, between Alfred wanting to have more freedom, and their Dad, Arthur, insisting that he wasn't mature enough. Alfred had gone red with anger, pressed his lips into a straight line, grabbed his bag and announced he wouldn't be home for supper before he stormed out. This wasn't the first time it had happened, and as far as Alfred's parents were concerned he was staying at a friend's house and would be back the next day after school, like all the other times.

The first inkling that something was wrong came from Mathew the next night. He'd been setting the table and Arthur had pointed out that he'd only set for three, not four. Mathew had blinked at Arthur like a deer in headlights, and had lightly responded that they wouldn't need a setting for Alfred, since he wouldn't be home for supper. Arthur had been angry of course, assuming that Alfred was still sulking at a friend's house. It wasn't until the third night that his parents began to worry.

By the end of the fourth night, Mathew's parents began to panic as the found that Alfred had not been seen for four days, not even by his friends. Mathew had accepted the news serenely, eerily unshaken. At this point, his parents were certain he knew something, but despite all the interigations, the threats, tears and manipulation, his answers remained the same.

No, he did not know where Alfred was. 

It's okay, Alfred was safe. 

Matthew's certainty only helped convince his parents he knew something, but despite their belief, despite the police officers, private investigators, and even lie detectors, Matthew's words were proven true.

No, he did not know where Alfred was.

It's okay, Alfred is safe. 

Mathew never faltered, and days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, and the months turned into a year. The first Christmas after Alfred left, they decorated, and opened presents, and ate Christmas dinner, but they did not celebrate. There was no laughter as they opened presents, no chatter at the Christmas table, no smiling or snickers as they put up the stockings. 

There was a solemn awareness of the empty space at the table, the missing stocking next to the other three. Even Mathew, for the first time since Alfred left, seemed down and quieter than normal as he opened presents, helped set up lights, and helped cook dinner and keep Arthur out of the kitchen. Without Alfred's help, it was harder to accomplish that last task, and the Christmas dinner was intermittently amazing and bland depending on which dish Francis or Mathew made, and which ones Arthur made. 

Surprisingly, everyone made it through the meal without crying, though Francis looked close as he tasted a mouthfull of bland mashed potatoes. It wasn't until afterwards that the waterworks occurred. 

It started with a forlorn comment from Arthur. 

"I hope Alfred is okay." 

Before Francis could offer any words of comfort, Mathew cut in, but for the first time since Alfred's disappearance, his words changed. 

"It's okay. Alfred's just sad." Mathew stirred his gravy into his tasteless mashed potatoes until they resembled something unfit to be on the table. "And lonely." 

Matthew's confident words hit the chord they were all avoiding striking, and the glass they had been carefully walking on shattered. Arthur was the first to explode. When Arthur slammed his hands down on the table and began to shout angrily, spitting anger towards the season, the dinner, Francis, Mathew, Alfred, and even himself, Francis broke down in tears. Francis begged for Arthur to calm down, and Arthur in turn did the opposite. When Mathew attempted to intervene and calm them down, both turned on him. 

"Everything would be solved if you would just tell us where he is!" 

Matthew's quiet gaze darkened and fell to his lap. 

"I don't know where Alfred is." 

Arthur stormed off to his room, and Francis wiped away his tears and disappeared through the front door, likely to the local pub, where his frinds would meet him. Mathew sat alone at the empty table, looking down at the abandoned meal and his cold mess of mashed potatoes, gravy, and stuffing that had somehow gotten mixed in. No one came back to the table. 

Finally, Mathew cleaned up the cold dishes, scraping the food from the neglected plates into the trash. The next morning, Francis reappeared at the door, disheveled and hungover, murming unspecified apologies. Arthur resurfaced at lunch long enough to eat and retire back to his office, but said nothing about last night.

They didn't celebrate New Years when it came. Mathew stayed in his room, earphones in his ears with nothing playing, and listened to a tune playing somewhere else. He didn't say anything about Alfred at all.

Winter turned into Spring, and Arthur's birthday came and went, and Mathew left a small gift and card at his spot at the head of the table and Francis made cupcakes, but they did not celebrate. There was so singing "Happy Birthday", and no decorations. Just a quiet acknowledgement and thank you from Arthur, an anxious smile from Francis, and that was it.

Spring turned into summer, and Matthew's birthday never happened. Usually, they held it a few days before Alfred's, because Arthur wanted to promote individuality between the twins. The day Mathew normally celebrated his birthday passed without a word, not from his parents, or from Mathew. The day they celebrated Alfred's birthday passed as well, and no one acknowledged it.

Francis' birthday arrived, and Mathew made his favorite breakfast, crepes, and made him a card. Arthur flinched as Mathew wished Francis "Happy Birthday", twisting to stare at the calendar, before pouring apologies to Francis for forgetting the day while his husband assured him it wasn't necessary. Mathew smiled a tiny smile for the first time in months.

Two days later, Francis dropped his fork in the middle of dinner with a gasp.

"Mathieu! We forgot your birthday!" 

Arthur turned pale. Mathew reached for the peas without a word, nodding to accept the belated birthday wishes and apologies. Francis promised that they would celebrate properly next Saturday. Next Saturday passed, and there was no celebration. Mathew stayed silent, and his parents didn't mention it.

No one asked about Alfred anymore. Mathew didn't mention him.

Summer turned into fall, and fall turned into winter. Christmas passed by with very little acknowledgement. They didn't celebrate Arthur's birthday at all that year. Alfred's name became an unspoken taboo in the house, and the silence grew stronger. Mathew found that Alfred's room had been cleaned out, and their old bunk bed had been set up again. Mathew didn't mention it to his parents. Neither explained. 

It was a few months after Christmas that Arthur brought home two new foster brothers, much younger than Mathew. They were the same age, but not twins, and Arthur put their stuff in Alfred's old room while Francis introduced them. Mathew whispered his welcomes to the two strangers his parent's claimed were to be his younger brothers. Kyle was loud and playful. James was quiet and reserved. Mathew began to have trouble sleeping in the weeks after. 

Arthur seemed to come alive again, and Mathew saw him laughing and playing with his new brothers more and more often. Francis spent less time at home. Mathew spent more and more time watching his younger brothers with his father, and less time trying to join in. His father didn't notice. 

They celebrated Matthew's 18th birthday that year, but Mathew didn't smile. When Francis finally noticed, Arthur looked guilty, and the younger boys watched in confusion as Mathew said the taboo word.

"Alfred..." 

Arthur went stiff, a mask of stone sliding over his face, and Francis flinched. Kyle, the loud one, pulled on Matthew's sleeve. 

"Who's Alfred?" 

Francis flinched harder, but no one answered. Instead, Mathew asked a question quietly. 

"Are you replacing Alfred and I?" 

For a moment, no one responded. By the time they did, it was too late. Mathew looked close to tears as he blew out his candles. Francis visited Mathew in his room that night. Matthew's answer remained the same.

He didn't know where Alfred was. 

It's okay, Alfred was safe. 

Francis looked sad. Mathew looked empty. Francis tried to explain that's not what he came to say. He tried to explain that Mathew wasn't being replaced. Mathew stayed silent. Francis tried to pull Mathew into a hug. Mathew didn't repriciate. Instead, Mathew told his father that he wanted to move out. He father hesitated, and told him that they would talk about it later. 

Later never came. 

Mathew was 18 when he got his first postcard from his missing brother, inviting him to live with him. Arthur caught him packing his bags that night, and for the first time since Alfred left, Arthur yelled. Francis cried. Kyle and James watched with wide eyes from the edge of the doorway until Arthur noticed and sent them to bed sharply. Mathew remained stone-faced.

Arthur accused him of always knowing where Alfeed was, and lying to them. Francis tried to calm him. Mathew answered coldly. 

He knew where Alfred was now.

Alfred was safe.


End file.
